Poem: Catcall
Crass kiss and wolf whistle
thrown from the open window
of a polished blue pickup, slowing
to match my sun sapped stride.
I am bare faced and glasses clad
peering into the tupperware dish
that houses six dead beetles
and a banded tussock moth.
Later I will sanctify and pin them
splayed to a white foam board -
The beetles, the moth, the man.